PS 

3507 

D17975r 


DAMON 


ROMANCE  OF  REALITY 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


SEP   8  I19-? 
LIBRARY- 


THE  MISSION  PLAT 


ImtoluUt,  iatuatt 
1920 

T 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  REALITY 

A  Historical  Play  in  Two  Acts 

Act    I.     The  Call 
Act  II.     The  Answer 


Written  by  Ethel  Moseley  Damon 

Staged   by   Punahou    Students,    Alumni    and    Friends 
As  a  Memorial  to  the  Founders  of  the  Mission 


Under  the  Direction  of  Dora  Louise  Kirwin 

In  Mission  Memorial  Hall,  Honolulu 

April  12,  1920 


NOTE:  With  the  exception  of  Miss  Patience  Dwight  and  Miss  Mehitable 
Joiner,  History  alone  has  supplied  the  names  and  personality  of  the 
characters  in  the  following  play.  Incident  and  scene  are  likewise 
historical,  and  even  the  words  themselves  have,  in  large  measure, 
been  discovered  in  the  writings  of  the  very  character  who  utters  them 
or  in  those  of  some  well-known  contemporary.  In  strict  justice,  there 
fore,  the  text  should  be  enclosed  in  quotation  marks. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  REALITY  • 

Time:     1809-1820.     place:     New   England  and   the   Sandwich   Islands. 
ACT  I:     THE  CALL 

SCENE  1.   New  Haven,  Connecticut,  an  autumn  afternoon  in  1809. 

Rev.  E.  Dwight,  a  brother  of  President  Dwight  of  Yale  College. 

Samuel  J.  Mills,  about  26  years  old,  of  Torringford,  Conn.,  a 
resident  graduate  at  the  college,  a  young  man  already  im 
bued  with  the  spirit  of  Missions. 

Opukahaia,  a  Sandwich  Island  youth  about  15  years  of  age. 

(Rev.  Mr.  Dwight  and  young  Mills  are  engaged  in  study,  the  one 
at  his  desk,  the  other  at  a  table,  in  the  study  of  Mr.  Dwight  on  the 
grounds  of  the  college.  Save  for  the  desk,  the  chairs,  a  few  books  on 
a  shelf,  and  two  large  engravings  of  religious  subjects  on  the  wall,  the 
study  is  bare.  A  door  opening  at  the  back  on  two  or  three  low  steps 
gives  a  glimpse  of  the  campus  shaded  by  its  historic  elms.) 

Mr.  Divight:  It  were*  wiser,  Samuel,  to  leave  your  study  of  the 
Greek  Testament  now,  and  turn  to  the  treatise  on  Principles  of  Con 
duct.  Be  as  diligent  in  the  latter  as  in  the  former,  and  life  cannot  fail 
to  yield  its  due  reward. 

Samuel  (very  respectfully) :  Thank  you,  sir.  (Samuel  makes  the 
change  in  text-books  and  becomes  so  absorbed  in  his  study  that  al 
though  his  seat  almost  faces  the  open  door  at  the  back,  he  in  no  wise 
observes  a  dark-skinned  youth  of  timid  mien,  Opukahaia,  who  is  to  be 
seen  approaching  under  the  elms;  he  comes  quite  close  to  the  steps 
and  looks  longingly  at  the  two  absorbed  workers;  clasping  his  hands 
fervently,  he  seems  to  implore  their  help,  and  finally  sinks  down  on 
the  steps  with  his  back  to  them,  his  face  buried  in  his  arms  and  his 
shoulders  shaking  with  sobs.) 

Mr.  Dwight  (without  looking  up) :  Samuel,  did  you  not  hear  some 
disturbing  sound? 

Samuel  (looking  directly  at  his  teacher) :  No,  sir,  I  was  buried  in 
contemplation  of  the  divine  command.  (Work  is  instantly  resumed.'' 

Mr.  Dwight  (starting  up  suddenly  and  going  toward  the  open  door) : 
But  surely,  Samuel,  there  must  be  someone  near  in  sore  distress  of 
body  or  mind.  (Samuel  rises  obediently,  but  is  still  preoccupied.) 
And  here  indeed  is  someone,  younger  than  yourself,  Samuel,  and  dark 
of  skin.  (Mr.  Dwight  goes  to  Opukahaia,  raises  him  up  with  tender 
compassion,  and  leads  him  into  the  room.  Opukahaia  looks  in  amaze 
ment  at  the  books  and  then  back  at  his  protector.)  Tell  me,  strange 
lad,  why  are  you  weeping?  And  whence  do  you  come? 

Opukahaia  (hesitatingly) :  Oh,  very  kind  sir,  I  come  long,  long 
way  on  ship, — white  people  call  it  Sand-wich  Is-land. 

Mr.  Dwight:  O  my  poor  lad,  and  you  weep  for  loneliness?  See, 
Samuel,  how  sore  pressed  is  his  spirit?  (Samuel  is  growing  more  in 
terested.) 

[5] 


Opukahaia:  Oh,  no,  I  cry — how  you  say  it? — because  no  man  giving 
me  to  learn. 

Mr.  Dwight  and  Samuel   (together):    To  learn? 

Opukahaia  (always  very  slowly) :  Yes,  most  kind  men, — books,  see, 
you  have  many, — you  make  on  paper,  like  this  (taking  up  Mr.  Dwight's 
quill  pen  reverently  and  tracing  lines  on  a  sheet  of  paper) — Opukahaia 
(touching  his  own  breast)  poor  boy,  no  book,  no  pen,  no  learning 
the  great  Akua,  you  say  God,  of  A-me-ri-ca. 

Mr.  Du-ight:   But,  my  lad,  we  will  gladly  teach  you! 

Opukahaia  (his  face  shining  with  joy) :  Oh,  too  kind  friend  to 
poor  Opukahaia! 

Mr.  Dwight:  No,  my  good  lad,  only  glad  to  help  where  need  is. 
But  tell  us  why  you  wish  so  much  to  learn. 

Opukahaia:  Oh,  for  my  people,  to  go  back,  teach  poor  blind  people, 
all  worship  the  wood  and  stone,  and  shark,  no  Bible  is  there  in  Sand 
wich  Is-land. 

Samuel  (greatly  stirred) :  Oh,  Mr.  Dwight,  I  have  long  prayed  to 
God  that  He  might  some  day  send  many  of  us  out  to  dark  continents 
and  isles  of  the  sea,  to  preach  the  Gospel  to  every  creature.  (Opuka 
haia  listens  rapt.)  May  I  not  be  permitted  to  help  teach  this  strange 
youth? 

Mr.  Dwight:  Indeed,  yes,  Samuel,  this  seems  to  be  the  very  hand 
of  God!  You  shall  help,  and  at  once.  Every  day  at  this  same  hour 
our  new  friend,  O-boo — 

Opukahaia  (smiling,  but  with  his  habitual  courtesy) :    O-pu-ka-ha-i-a. 

Mr.  Dwight  (renewing  the  effort):  O-boo-kiah,  shall  come  to  us  for 
instruction.  I  will  myself  open  to  him  the  storehouse  of  God's  sacred 
word,  and  by  the  abridgement  of  some  of  your  tasks,  Samuel,  you  may 
have  a  full  hour  for  instructing  him  in  the  English  tongue.  (Opukahaia 
makes  an  involuntary  movement  to  clasp  the  knees  of  his  benefactor; 
Mr.  Dwight  restrains  him  gently,  but  firmly,  whereupon  the  boy  im 
petuously  seizes  his  hand  and  kisses  it  fervently.) 

Opukahaia:  Kind  friend,  excuse  poor  Opukahaia,  not  knowing  plenty 
English  word,  thank  you,  aloha. 

Mr.  Dwight:   But  tell  me,  O-boo-kiah,  where  you  live  here. 

Opukahaia:  In  house  of  Captain  Brintnell,  he  was  before  on  ship, 
very  kind  to  poor  Hopu,  friend  to  Opukahaia, — two  boys  come  on  ship 
from  boy's  notion,  go  far  away.  The  captain  very  kind,  Opukahaia 
stay  captain's  house,  but  captain  have  no  books,  no  Bible.  Opukahaia 
come  every  day  here  (indicating  the  campus),  see  many  boys  always 
carry  books. 

Samuel  (eagerly) :  Oh,  Mr.  Dwight,  it  is  indeed  our  great  oppor 
tunity  to  bring  light  to  them  that  sit  in  darkness.  And  when  I  go 
to  my  father's  house  in  Torringford,  may  I  take  O-boo-kiah  with  me? 
Later  also  to  the  Theological  Seminary  at  Andover,  where  I  am  con 
fident  that,  in  teaching  him,  we  shall  all  be  stirred  to  obey  the  clear 
call  of  God  to  carry  His  Gospel  to  the  ends  of  the  earth! 

Mr.  Dwight:  Even  so,  in  God's  providence,  it  shall  be,  Samuel.  And 
let  us,  then,  to  mark  this  sacred  hour  of  the  revelation  of  God's  will, 
give  to  our  new  friend  a  Christian  name,  Henry,  which  shall  later  be 
sanctified  to  him  in  holy  baptism. 

. . .  Opukahaia  (kneeling,  with  eager  joy,  his  hands  clasped):    He-ne-ri- 
Opukahaia! 

[6] 


Mr.  Divight  (placing  his  hand  on  the  boy's  head) :  May  the  blessing 
of  the  Lord  be  upon  thee,  may  He  make  His  face  to  shine  upon  thee 
and  give  thee  peace! 

CURTAIN 

ACT  I,  SCENE  2.    The  same.    Three  months  later. 
Rev.  Mr.  Dwight. 

Miss  Patience  Dwight.  his  niece,  the  oldest  of  the  ladies. 
Miss  Mehitable  Joiner,  the  youngest,  about  14  years  old. 
Four  or  five  other  young  ladies. 
Samuel  J.  Mills. 
Henry  Opukahaia. 
Thomas  Hopu,  his  friend,  and  companion  of  the  voyage. 

(The  door  at  the  back  is  closed,  but  through  a  glass  pane  in  it  the 
branches  of  the  elms  can  be  seen  to  be  bearing  burdens  of  flaky  snow. 
Mr.  Dwight  is  standing  near  his  desk.  The  young  ladies,  still  in  their 
bonnets,  but  having  just  laid  off  their  shawls,  are  decorously  seated  in 
a  semicircle  facing  the  desk — Miss  Dwight  at  the  back,  Miss  Mehitable 
Joiner  nearest  the  audience.) 

Mr.  Dwight:  Having  no  prescience  of  today's  inclement  weather,  my 
dear  young  ladies,  I  asked  my  niece  to  assemble  you  in  my  study  at 
this  hour,  for  a  particular  reason  (much  fluttering  and  rustling  among 
the  sisters).  Unselfish  sympathy,  devotion,  and  prayer  have  ever  been 
the  graces  of  the  enlightened  female  mind  and  soul.  I  now  ask  you 
as  a  group  to  extend  those  graces  to  another  nation  than  your  own, 
through  the  persons  of  two  of  my  pupils,  Henry  Obookiah  and  his 
friend,  Thomas  Hopu;  natives  of  the  Sandwich  Islands,  and  earnest 
seekers  after  truth.  (He  steps  to  a  side  door  and  calls) — Samuel, 
come  in!  (A  still  more  audible  flutter  is  evident  among  the  ladies;  at 
the  entrance  of  Samuel  and  the  two  dark  youths,  Miss  Mehitable  in 
voluntarily  calls  out,  "Oh,  oh"  but  is  at  once  severely  frowned  upon  by 
Miss  Patience.) 

Mr.  Dwight:  Mr.  Samuel  Mills  you  all  know  from  frequent  social 
gatherings  in  my  house.  Henry  Obookiah  and  Thomas  Hopu  I  now 
formally  present  for  your  charitable  consideration.  (All  the  ladies 
rise  and  curtsy  deeply.) 

Miss  Patience  (modestly  approaching  the  two  strangers  and  shak 
ing  hands  with  them) :  My  uncle  does  us,  unlearned  females,  a  signal 
honor,  which  we  shall  yet  endeavor  to  requite  by  our  fervent  and  fre 
quent  prayers  for  your  welfare  and  continued  advancement  in  the 
knowledge  and  love  of  our  Heavenly  Father. 

Opukahaia  (deeply  moved):  Poor  Opukahaia  thank  all  kind  peo 
ple.  Out  door  (pointing  to  the  wintry  scene)  oh,  very  cold,  but  now 
never  more  cold  here  (placing  his  hand  on  his  heart),  all  other  hearts 
so  warm  to  poor  boys,  Hopu  and  Opukahaia.  Friend  Samuel,  will  tell 
the  ladies?  • 

Mr.  Dwight  (having  bidden  the  ladies  be  re-seated) :  Our  new 
friend  wishes  Samuel  to  tell  you  all  of  his  comrade  of  the  voyage, 
Thomas  Hopu.  This  story  we  have  gathered  from  Henry's  broken 
narrative  and  from  Captain  Brintnell  who  was  in  command  of  the 
whaling  ship  that  brought  them  across  18,000  miles  of  trackless  ocean, 
to  our  shores. 

[7] 


Samuel:  Some  member  of  the  crew  had  given  Thomas  a  gorgeous 
red  jacket  which  he  prized  above  all  his  most  treasured  possessions. 
Shortly  afterward,  he  was,  in  a  sudden  storm,  hurled  from  the  ship's 
deck  into  the  sea  (a  terrified  shudder  among  the  ladies),  where,  al 
though  he  swam  bravely,  the  crew  several  times  gave  him  up  for  lost 
before  he  was  rescued  after  the  space  of  some  three  hours.  There 
after,  it  was  observed  that  the  red  jacket  was  never  worn,  nor  could 
the  faithful  Thomas  by  any  means  be  prevailed  upon  to  touch  or  even 
to  look  upon  his  treasure,  for  in  his  hour  of  peril,  as  he  battled  with 
the  waves,  he  had  vowed  to  give  the  thing  he  held  most  dear  to  his 
Akua,  his  heathen  god,  should  that  god  be  willing  to  preserve  his  life. 

Mr.  Dwight  (fervently):  How  great  an  example  of  fidelity  to  prin 
ciple!  And  now  I  am  asking  these  female  friends  to  join  their  prayers 
to  ours,  that,  in  season  and  out  of  season,  petitions  shall  ascend  to 
the  throne  of  Divine  Grace  to  intercede  for  the  true  conversion  of  these 
our  Sandwich  Island  friends. 

Miss  Patience  (much  stirred):  Our  prayers  shall  indeed  rise  for 
them  continually.  I  and  my  sisters  in  this  work  of  salvation  will 
also  form  a  sewing  circle  to  minister  to  the  material  needs  of  the  body. 
Sister  Mercy  here  is  a  master-hand  at  frilled  shirts  and  even  our 
smallest  sister,  Mehitable,  can  fell  a  seam  with  great  neatness  and  dis 
patch.  But  now  (all  the  ladies  rise  and  adjust  their  shawls),  we 
must  take  our  leave,  not  omitting  to  thank  our  kind  pastor,  Mr.  Dwight, 
for  his  charity  in  estimating  as  of  any  value  the  efforts,  the  tears, 
and  the  prayers  of  our  weaker  female  sex.  (All  the  ladies. pass  out, 
curtsying  deeply  to  Mr.  Dwight,  again  to  the  two  Sandwich  Island 
youths,  and  again  to  Samuel  Mills,  who  holds  the  door  for  them  to 
pass. ) 

CURTAIN 

ACT   I,   St'KNK  3.     Andover   Theological   Seminary,   seven   years   later, 

July,  1816. 

Asa  Thurston.  a  tln-i>lo<ii<-nl  xtmlcnt.   about  22   I/OII-N  old. 

\\'illi<n»  (iootlrll.  his  roommate,  about  the  same  age. 

Samuel  J.  Mills,  already  a  missionary  to  the  country  west  of 

New  York  State. 
Opukahaia,  earnest  as  before,  and  very  devout. 

(The  small  sitting  room  of  the  two  students,  containing  two  plain 
ch.iirs,  a  black  hair-cloth  sofa,  two  small  desks  or  tables,  and  a  num 
ber  of  theological  books.  A  door  at  the  right  leads  into  an  adjoining 
bedroom,  one  at  the  left  opens  out  on  to  the  campus.  Asa  Thurston. 
graduate  of  Yale  and  a  beginner  in  his  theological  studies,  is  discovered 
poring  over  a  thick  History  of  the  Chosen  People,  lighted  by  a  small 
candle.) 

Asa  (looking  up):  I  wonder  whether  something  is  preventing 
Obookiah  from  coming  for  his  lesson  tonight.  How  marvelously  he 
has  learned  our  language  and  how  inspired  he  is  when  speaking  in 
the  different  churches!  (Steps  are  heard  at  the  left;  Asa  runs  to  admit 
Opukahaia,  and,  to  his  surprise,  Mr.  Samuel  J.  Mills.)  This  is  indeed 
a  double  surprise!  For  I  had  almost  given  you  up,  Obookiah,  and  you, 
Mr.  Mills,  I  did  not  know  to  be  in  this  region.  Surely  you  will  tarry 
a  moment?  My  roommate,  William  Goodell,  is  here,  and  I  should 
like  him  to  know  you.  (He  takes  the  gentlemen's  hats  and  bids  them 
be  seated  on  the  sofa;  going  to  the  door  at  the  right,  he  calls),  Will- 

[8] 


iam!  (Returning  with  William) — This  is  the  missionary,  Mr.  Samuel 
Mills,  William,  and  Obookiah,  our  pupil  of  Yale  days.  (All  shake 
hands.) 

Mr.  Mills:  You,  I  take  it,  Mr.  Goodell,  have  never  before  laid  eyes 
upon  a  Sandwich  Islander! 

William:  Right  you  are,  Mr.  Mills,  and  yet  before  seeing  him  I 
could  have  described  to  you  with  minute  precision  his  deportment,  his 
facial  expression,  nay,  even  his  frilled  shirt!  For  years  I  have  known 
of  him  through  my  sister  and  her  friend,  Miss  Mehitable  Joiner,  who 
since  she  saw  him  first,  now  seven  years  since  in  New  Haven,  has 
taken  for  him  thousands  of  stitches  and  with  each  stitch  has  sent  up  a 
fervent  prayer  for  the  continued  well-being  of  his  soul. 

Opukahaia  (taking  both  Goodell's  hands) :  Oh,  then  I  may  thank 
you,  and  you  will  thank  your  sister's  friends  for  me,  kind  Mr.  Goodell? 
Those  young  women  are  angels,  I  know  it,  I  feel  it  here  (his  hand 
on  his  breast).  Two  years  ago  I  came  out  of  great  darkness,  I  saw 
the  redeeming  light  of  Our  Savior,  and  at  that  same  moment  those 
angels,  of  heaven,  I  am  sure,  but  staying  a  little  time  here  on  earth 
to  do  good,  those  angels  were  praying  for  poor  Opukahaia,  for  his 
poor,  dark  soul. 

Mr.  Mills:  Aye,  that  devoted  female  band  was  actually  praying  for 
Obookiah's  salvation,  though  he  was  far  distant  from  them,  at  the 
very  moment  when  he  saw  the  .great  light. 

Asa:  How  marvelous  are  the  works  of  the  Lord!  May  His  name  be 
praised  forevermore! 

Mr.  Mills:  Amen!  And  now,  friends,  I  must  tell  you  that  Obookiah 
comes  to  you  tonight  in  this  place  for  the  last  time. 

Asa:   For  the  last  time? 

Mr.  Mills:  The  prayers  of  Obookiah  and  his  friends  have  been 
answered.  A  school  for  such  foreign  youth  and  for  the  descendants 
of  the  red  men  on  our  own  continent  is  already  established  at  Corn 
wall,  Connecticut,  and  its  first  principal  is  none  other  than  our  dear 
preceptor  of  Yale,  Rev.  Edwin  Dwight.  I  am  leaving  for  Cornwall 
with  our  two  friends  by  the  first  diligence  on  the  morrow. 

Asa:  That  is  precious  news!  But  we  shall  then  be  able  no  longer 
to  watch  the  steady  progress  of  Obookiah  in  his  Christian  pilgrimage — 
this  is  a  great  loss,  truly. 

Mr.  Mills:  Unless  you  choose  to  visit  the  new  school  in  your 
vacations. 

Asa:  A  profitable  suggestion  indeed!  And  I  am  confident  that  both 
my  roommate  and  another  classmate,  Hiram  Bingham,  will  eagerly 
avail  themselves  of  the  opportunity.  Friend  Bingham,  I  know,  has 
already  been  approached  with  a  project  to  train  and  carry  all  these 
youth  back  to  the  Sandwich  Islands,  there  to  found  a  Christian  mis 
sion;  but  he  has  deemed  it  wise  to  pursue  his  theological  studies  to 
their  conclusion  before  putting  himself  to  the  great  test. 

Mr.  Mills:  The  school  and  its  inmates  will  count  on  your  constant 
prayers,  Friend  Asa.  We  must  now  bid  you  both  a  good  evening. 

Opukahaia:    Farewell,  kind  friends,  aloha. 

Asa:  Farewell,  farewell,  and  may  God's  good  providence  watch  over 
you.  (All  shake  hands;  William  opens  the  outer  door  for  them  and 
they  are  bowed  out.) 

CURTAIN 

[9] 


Hiram    and    Sybil    Bingham 

ACT  I,  SCENE  4.    The  same.   Three  years  later,  September  24,  1819. 

Asa  Thurston,  earnest  and  devout,  26  years  old. 

William  Goodell,  equally  earnest,  but  'bustling  and  practical. 

Hiram  Bingham,  grave  and  old  for  his  years. 

Deacon  Abner  Goodale,  cousin  of  William. 

Miss  Lucy  Goodale,  the  deacon's  daughter,  25  years  old. 

(The  room  has  not  changed.  William  Goodell,  deep  in  thought,  is 
seated  on  the  sofa.  Asa  Thurston  is  studying  at  his  desk.  William 
rises,  comes  over  and  lays  one  hand  affectionately  on  Asa's  shoulder.) 

William:   Is  it  settled,  Asa?   Have  you  counted  the  cost? 

Asa:  Aye,  dear  William,  I  have  set  my  hand  to  the  plow.  Three 
days  ago  I  offered  myself  to  the  Prudential  Committee  of  the  Ameri 
can  Board  of  Commissioners  for  Foreign  Missions  for  the  enterprise 
of  spreading  the  Gospel  in  the  far  isles  of  the  Pacific — and,  thanks  be 
to  God,  I  have  been  accepted. 

William:  Yes,  old  comrade,  I  envy  you.  I  would  gladly  go  with 
you,  the  call  comes  clear  and  strong,  but  I  am  marked  for  yet  an 
other  year  of  preparation  to  be  able  to  combat  the  subtle  philosophy 
and  ancient  doctrines  of  Persia. 

Asa:  Whereas  I  go  to  the  savages  of  the  Pacific!  It  is  the  hand 
of  our  dear  Obookiah  that  beckons  me,  William.  What  a  blessed  life 
was  his,  how  blessed,  too,  his  death,  now  eighteen  months  ago,  without 
fear,  with  a  heavenly  smile  on  his  countenance  and  glory  in  his  soul! 
Gladly  would  he  have  lived  to  go  with  us  to  point  our  way,  but  such 
was  not  God's  mysterious  providence.  We  shall  indeed  rejoice  in  the 
help  of  the  three  youth  who  are  going,  Hopu,  Honolii  and  Kanui,  but 
none  can  ever  be  the  same  as  our  dear  Obookiah.  See,  his  little 
Memoir,  which  is  just  from  the  press,  I  shall  always  carry  with  me 
as  my  guide,  that  I  faint  not,  nor  falter. 

[10] 


William:  But  you  seem  to  have  forgotten  an  important  condition 
of  your  contract,  Asa,  my  friend.  If  you  fail  to  have  a  wife  in  four 
weeks'  time,  your  going  may  be  deferred  forever. 

Asa:  True,  true,  my  kind  and  every  ready  councillor,  but  there  I 
am  at  a  total  loss.  For  to  take  a  female  companion  to  so  rude,  so 
dark,  so  vile  a  part  of  the  world  seems  forbidding  in  the  extreme. 
And  to  say  truth,  I  should  not  know  what  friend  of  the  weaker  sex 
I  could  thus  address. 

William:  Let  me  unfold  to  you  a  plan  that  has  suggested  itself  to 
me.  (A  knock  at  the  outer  door  brings  in  Hiram  Bingham  in  muffler 
and  overcoat;  he  divests  himself  of  his  wraps,  rubbing  his  hands  and 
adjusting  his  collar.) 

Asa:  Welcome  back,  Hiram,  after  an  unexpected  absence.  A  hard 
journey  it  must  have  been  this  rough  weather.  But  explain  the  long 
delay,  we  expected  you  last  week. 

Hiram:  Brethren,  there  has  been  a  great  shaking  in  the  dry  bones 
of  my  sinful  heart.  I  went,  as  you  know,  to  spend  the  few  days'  va 
cation  at  the  Foreign  Mission  School  at  Cornwall.  There  I  found  that 
before  his  death  our  dear  Obookiah  had  applied  himself  with  increased 
diligence  even  to  the  study  of  Hebrew  and  that  since  his  death  all 
the  inmates  have  been  moved  to  deeper  piety  and  greater  industry. 
The  young  islanders,  who  cannot  well  endure  uninterrupted  appli 
cation  to  their  academic  work,  can  only  with  difficulty  be  torn  from 
their  books. 

Asa:    The  spirit  of  God  has  descended  upon  us  all. 

Hiram  (continuing  as  if  inspired) :  I,  too,  was  so  moved  with  shame 
and  contrition  that  I  engaged  place  on  the  swiftest  stage  to  Boston, 
and  there,  just  a  week  since,  offered  myself  freely  for  the  project  of 
a  Sandwich  Island  mission,  and  for  this  I  was  readily  accepted. 

Asa:  Dear  friend  Hiram,  we  are  met  on  common  ground,  yoke 
fellows  for  the  short  pilgrimage  of  this  life.  I  too  have  answered  the 
call,  I  too  have  been  highly  favored  of  our  gracious  Heavenly  Father. 

Hiram:  My  classmate,  too!  And  others  have  offered  themselves 
likewise!  Our  passage  even  is  engaged  on  the  brig  Thaddeus  to  sail 
from  Boston  in  just  four  weeks'  time. 

William:  But  you  too,  Hiram,  appear  to  forget  an  important  con 
dition  of  that  acceptance,  namely  and  to  wit,  that  you  must  each  be 
furnished  with  a  wife.  Another  of  your  yoke-fellows,  Samuel  Whitney, 
albeit  younger  and  less  learned  than  yourselves,  having  just  entered 
upon  his  Sophomore  studies  at  Yale  College,  has  yet  proven  himself 
far  more  nimble  in  this  matter  than  either  of  you!  In  New  Haven 
the  bans  have  in  fact  already  been  published  once  for  himself  and 
Miss  Mercy  Partridge  of  pittsfield,  a  young  female  friend  of  Miss 
Mehitable  Joiner. 

Hiram:    Is  this  indeed  so,  William? 

William:  Yea,  verily,  my  brethren!  And  for  your  further  en 
couragement,  I  may  add  that  this  same  Miss  Mehitable  Joiner  has  re 
cently  consented  to  become  the  partner  of  my  joys  and  sorrows!  As 
for  your  part,  Hiram,  I  would  counsel  haste,  for  although  I  have  a  plan 
to  win  over  for  my  good  friend  Asa  a  very  sweet  cousin  of  mine  who 
teaches  a  school  not  far  from  here,  I  unfortunately  have  no  other  to 
offer  you.  • 

[11] 


Hiram:  This  is  a  season  to  try  men's  souls,  William,  and  scarce  a 
time  for  levity.  I  have  indeed  bethought  me,  as  the  seriousness  of  the 
occasion  demands,  and  shall  forthwith  pay  my  addresses  in  proper 
form  to  the  father  of  Miss  Sybil  Moseley,  a  young  female  whom  I  have 
long  known  to  be  eager  to  take  up  the  martyr's  cross.  I  must  be  gone 
at  once  to  dispatch  a  letter  by  the  first  post.  Good  night,  dear  friends. 

Asa  and  William:   Goodnight,  brother.    (He  goes  out  at  right.) 
Asa:   And  now,  William,  disclose  your  plan  without  delay. 

William:  It  is  nothing  short  of  this,  Asa:  My  cousin,  Lucy 
Goodale,  a  devout  and  not  uncomely  young  lady,  a  little  younger  than 
yourself,  has  always  evinced  a  deep  interest  in  the  welfare  of  the 
heathen  in  distant  lands.  Yesterday,  during  the  intermission  of  her 
school,  I  spoke  seriously  with  her  upon  the  subject  of  the  Sandwich 
Island  Mission,  having  previously  addressed  a  written  message  to  her 
sole  surviving  parent,  my  uncle,  Deacon  Abner  Goodale  of  Marlboro, 
begging  him  bring  Lucy  with  him  to  meet  us  here  this  evening. 

.Asa:  And  Miss  Goodale  listened  favorably  to  your  proposal  in  my 
behalf,  William? 

William:  Nay,  so  much  I  cannot  claim,  Asa.  She  was  of  necessity 
greatly  surprised,  but  fortunately  showed  no  disposition  to  cry  aloud 
or  lose  consciousness,  as  is  so  often  the  way  of  females.  Yet  it  seemed 
difficult  for  her  to  govern  the  organs  of  speech.  At  length,  however, 
she  bade  me  go,  promising  me  that  although  she  slept  not  one  moment 
of  the  night,  she  would  engage  to  come  with  her  father  this  evening. 

Asa:  Dear  William,  you  are  indeed  a  tower  of  strength.  But  do 
you  not  hear  steps  approaching?  Pray  open  for  them,  while  I  light 
more  candles.  (William  admits  his  uncle  and  cousin.) 

William:  Uncle  Abner,  this  is  my  roommate,  Asa  Thurston,  of  whom 
I  wrote  you.  Cousin  Lucy,  permit  me  to  present  to  you  my  dearest 
friend.  (They  bow  and  shake  hands). 

Deacon  Goodale:   Good  evening,  friend  Thurston. 

Asa:   Good  evening,  sir. 

Miss  Goodale:    Good  evening,  Mr.  Thurston. 

Asa:  Good  evening,  Miss  Goodale  (leading  her  to  a  seat  on  the 
sofa ) . 

Deacon  Goodale:  Your  face  is  firmly  set  toward  the  work  of  re 
demption,  friend  Thurston,  of  that  I  am  convinced.  Nevertheless,  my 
weak  and  sin/ul  heart  is  reluctant  to  learn  that  in  your  sublime  plan, 
my  own  daughter  is  involved. 

Asa:  With  your  kind  permission  only,  Deacon  Goodale.  Without  a 
parent's  blessing,  no  union  could  prosper. 

Deacon  Goodale:  On  that  point  your  fears  may  be  at  rest.  Yet  of 
coercion,  even  in  the  clear  light  of  duty,  I  will  have  none.  Daughter 
Lucy  is  free  to  make  her  own  choice.  And  to  that  decision,  my  nephew 
and  I  will  now  leave  you.  (He  goes  out  with  William  by  the  outer 
door;  Asa  looks  after  them  not  without  a  certain  wistfulness,  but  man 
fully  clears  his  throat  and  approaches  the  sofa.) 

Asa:  There  is  nothing  further  to  explain,  Miss  Goodale you  see 

me  helpless  before  you. 

Miss  Goodale:  Nay  (rising),  say  not  so,  Mr.  Thurston.  In  your 
hand  I  perceive  the  flaming  sword  of  truth,  your  feet  turning  so 
swiftly  to  tread  a  path  beset  with  thorns,  seem  to  me  to  be  shod  with 

[12] 


the  sandals  of  righteousness,  and  all  about  you  shines  the  very  glory 
of  God.  It  is  rather  I  who  feel  helpless  before  your  steadfast  and  holy 
resolve,  for  can  so  low  a  thing  as  I  be  singled  out  to  fulfil  the  great 
purposes  of  the  Lord? 

Asa  (greatly  moved,  holding  out  both  hands) :  Dear  Miss  Goodale, 
will  you  go  with  me  as  my  wife? 

Miss  Goodale  (laying  her  hands  in  his) :  I  will.  (Neither  speaks 
for  an  appreciable  instant.  At  last,  feeling  her  trembling,  he  leads  her 
to  the  sofa  again,  but  continues  to  stand,  saying  gravely,) 

Asa:  You  give  me  such  happiness  as  I  never  in  my  life  have  ex 
perienced.  But  such  great  joy  it  were  cowardly  to  call  my  own  before 
I  am  convinced  that  you  have  counted  all  the  cost. 

Miss  Goodale:  I  have  counted  the  cost,  Mr.  Thurston,  and  I  am 
confident  that  the  Lord  will  sustain  us  throughout  our  short  earthly 
pilgrimage.  But  (smiling  archly)  have  you,  on  your  part,  counted 
the  weeks? 

Asa  (sinking  into  a  chair  beside  the  sofa) :  Ah,  my  dear  new 
friend  (with  a  wry  smile)  I  see  that  you  are  practical  indeed.  (Then 
trying  to  take  one  of  her  hands),  You  will  not  permit  me? 

Miss  Goodale:  After  a  longer  acquaintance,  perhaps,  Mr.  Thurston. 
(Then  smiling  again),  but  just  now  we  must  make  some  definite  pro 
gramme  as  to  ways  and  means. 

Asa:  Ah,  to  be  sure!  I  had  quite  forgotten  to  tell  you  that  the  brig 
Thaddeus  on  which  our  passage  has  been  taken,  is  to  sail  from  Boston 
in  just  four  weeks.  In  five  days  Brother  Bingham  and  I  are  to  be 
ordained  at  Goshen,  Connecticut. 

Miss  Goodale  (taking  out  a  calendar  from  her  reticule  and  re 
ferring  constantly  to  it) :  September  26th,  October  3rd,  and  October 
10th  will  then  furnish  three  Sabbaths  for  the  publication  of  the  bans. 
Since  Monday  is  not  at  all  a  convenient  day,  let  us  then  fix  upon 
Tuesday,  October  12th,  for  the  wedding.  After  that  event,  we  go, 
do  we  not?  to  Boston  for  the  blessing  and  sacred  charge  of  the  Com 
missioners  for  Foreign  Missions, — and  thence,  can  it  be  true,  that  in 
an  additional  space  of  ten  short  days  we  shall  set  sail  for  a  land 
whence  we  may  never  return? 

Asa:    Can  you  do  it,  my  friend? 

Miss  Goodale:   With  God's  help,  I  can  and  will. 

Asa:  Such  is  ever  the  true  helper's  brave  response.  (He  tries  again 
to  possess  himself  of  one  of  her  hands  which  she  withdraws,  smiling, 
as  she  rises.) 

Miss  Goodale:  But  we  must  dally  here  no  longer.  Do  you  realize 
that  we  have  lingered  here  above  an  hour,  keeping  my  dear  father 
and  good. Cousin  William  in  great  suspense  the  while? 

Asa  (crossing  the  room  to  open  the  outer  door  for  her) :  Since  you 
wish  it,  Miss  Goodale. 

Miss  Goodale:  Nay,  then,  have  your  will  too,  sir,  but  give  me  the 
the  last  word!  (She  extends  her  hand,  but  scarcely  giving  him  time 
to  .bend  reverently  over  it,  drops  a  swift  curtsy  and  flies  past  him 
out  of  the  door  almost  before  he  has  time  to  snatch  his  hat  and  follow.) 

OUBTAIN 
[13] 


Asa   and    Lucy  Thurston 

A  portrait  taken  in  1864  which  proves  that, 
like  many  another  prince  and  princess  of 
adventure,  "they  lived  happy  ever  after." 


ACT  II:     THE  ANSWER 

SCENE  1.    Boston  Harbor,  at  the  sailing  of  the  brig  Thaddeus, 
October  23,  1819. 

Hiss  Mehitable  Joiner. 
Mr.  William  Ooodell. 
Deacon  Abner  Ooodale. 
Rev.  Edwin  Dwight. 
Miss  Patience  Dwight. 

(A  back  drop  gives  a  view  of  the  masts  in  the  harbor  and  the  ocean 
beyond;  the  Thaddeus  has  just  passed  off  the  scene,  but  is  still  visible 
to  the  players  at  the  left.  In  the  foreground  is  an  unoccupied  end  of 
the  wharf,  a  pile  of  old  boxes,  a  stanchion  or  two,  and  coils  of  ship's 
hawsers.  Miss  Mehitable  Joiner  runs  on  from  the  right,  waving  her 
handkerchief  to  the  brig  disappearing  at  the  left;  but  she  is  still  look 
ing  back  to  William  Goodell,  at  the  right,  beckoning  him  to  follow  her.) 

Mehitable:  Oh,  come,  William,  come,  we  can  still  see  Lucy  and 
Cousin  Asa  from  here! 

William  (approaching  hastily,  but  anxiously  trying  to  draw  his 
fiancee  back) :  Yes,  my  friend,  you  have  a  more  advantageous  situation 
here,  but  it  is  not  quite  seemly  for  us  to  withdraw  from  the  main 
group  of  friends  who  have  gathered  to  say  a  last  farewell  to  the 
Thaddeus  and  her  precious  burden. 

Mehitable:  Oh,  William,  I  am  sorely  tempted  to  say  fiddlesticks  to 
you!  It  is  too  exasperating,  and  your  Uncle  Abner  should  be  with  us 
here  where  he  could  see  infinitely  better. 

[14] 


William:  True,  quite  true,  from  your  point  of  view!  But  you  will 
observe  that  the  friends  have  already  begun  to  sing  the  parting  hymn, 
the  new  one  by  Mr.  Tappan,  and  that  we  are  too  late  to  join  with 
them.  (The  invisible  group  at  the  right  sings  "Wake,  Isles  of  the 
South."  Mehitable  makes  a  little  grimace  of  disappointment,  then  folds 
her  hands  to  listen,  still  watching  in  the  direction  of  the  ship.  At  the 
close  of  the  hymn,  she  waves  her  handkerchief  again  and  turns  sud 
denly  to  William.) 

1.  Wake,  isles  of  the  South!   your  redemption  is  near, 
No  longer  repose  in  the  borders  of  gloom; 

The  strength  of  His  chosen  in  love  will  appear, 
And  light  shall  arise  on  the  verge  of  the  tomb: 

Alleluia  to  the  Lamb,  who  hath  purchased  our  pardon, 
We  will  praise  Him  again,  when  we  pass  over  Jordan. 

2.  The  billows  that  girt  ye,  the  wild  waves  that  roar, 
the  zephyrs  that  play  where  the  ocean  storms  cease, 
Shall  bear  the  rich  freight  to  your  desolate  shore  — 
Shall  waft  the  glad  tidings  of  pardon  and  peace. 

3.  On  the  islands  that  sit  in  the  regions  of  night, 
The  lands  of  despair,  to  oblivion  a  prey, 

The  morning  will  open  with  healing  and  light, 

And  the  young  Star  of  Bethlehem  will  brighten  the  day. 

Mehitable:  That  was  beautiful,  but  I'd  rather  be  here!  Do  hurry 
now  and  fetch  your  Uncle  Abner,  he  can  see  so  much  better  from  here. 
(William  turns  back,  but  before  he  disappears,  Mehitable  is  stirred  by 
another  thought  and  calls  to  him,  holding  up  her  skirts  daintily  from 
contact  with  the  dusty  pile  of  rope  on  which  she  is  standing),  and  oh, 
William,  do  prevail  upon  Rev.  Mr.  Dwight  and  Patience  to  come  too, 
it  is  just  ever  so  much  better  from  here,  even  if  it  is  a  bit  dirty! 
under  foot!  (William  returns,  escorting  his  uncle,  Deacon  Goodale,  Rev. 
Mr.  Dwight  and  Miss  Patience  Dwight.) 

Mehitable:  Oh,  make  haste,  Deacon  Goodale,  now  take  my  place, 
while  I  scramble  up  on  to  this  box.  (She  cedes  her  place  gracefully  to 
the  deacon  and,  with  William's  assistance,  finds  an  old  box  near  by.) 
Hold  fast  to  my  hand,  William! 

Deacon  Goodale:  It  is  true,  William,  I  can  still  descry  Daughter 
Lucy,  standing  next  to  her  husband. 

Mehitable:  And  there  is  good  Captain  Blanchard  walking  past  be 
hind  them.  And  the  Binghams,  I  can  see  friend  Hiram  turning  to 
address  a  word  of  comfort  to  his  lovely  bride! 

William:   There  is  Samuel  Whitney  with  his  bride,  too! 

Mr.  Dwight:  How  rapidly  the  little  brig  slips  down  the  stream!  And 
how  dear  the  freight  she  carries! 

Miss  Patience:  Do  you  not  hear  the  sound  of  voices  from  over  the 
water?  (All  listen  intently.) 

4.  The  altar  and  idol  in  dust  overthrown, 

The  incense  forbade  that  was  hallowed  with  blood, 
The  Priest  of  Melchisedec  there  shall  atone, 
And  the  shrines  of  Owhyhee  be  sacred  to  God. 

[15] 


5.  The  heathen  will  hasten  to  welcome  the  time. 
The  day-spring  the  prophet  in  vision  once  saw, 
When  the  beams  of  Messiah  will  illumine  each  clime. 
And  the  isles  of  the  ocean  shall  wait  for  his  law. 

6.  And  thou,  Obookiah,  now  sainted  above, 

Wilt  rejoice  as  the  heralds  their  mission  disclose. 

And  the  prayer  will  be  hoard,  that  the  land  thou  didst  love 

May  blossom  as  Sharon  and  bud  as  the  rose. 

Alleluia  to  the  Lamb,  who  hath  purchased  our  pardon, 
We  will  praise  Him  again,  when  we  pass  over  Jordan. 

Mehitable:  Oh,  listen,  it  is  the  Tappan  hymn,  they  are  answering 
from  the  brig!  (The  repetition  of  the  hymn  is  now  clearly  heard 
coming  from  the  distant  brig.  All  watch  and  listen.) 

Deacon  Goodale  (as  the  strains  die  away) :  How  like  the  song  of 
angels  from  another  world,  from  a  more  beautiful  world  yet  to  be! 

Mehitable  (all  are  waving  their  handkerchiefs) :  There,  they  are 
almost  gone.  No,  I  can  still  make  out  Cousin  Lucy's  blue  bonnet  and 

shawl!     Oh, it  is  all   blurred   now,   it  is  the  end,  they   are  gone! 

(All  continue  waving;  Mehitable  .wipes  away  tears  with  one  hand, 
and  bravely  stretches  out  the  other  as  far  as  possible  to  wave  a  last 
good-bye. ) 

Deacon  Goodale:  Nay,  nay,  my  child,  it  is  the  beginning!  Although 
lost  to  our  weak  earthly  vision,  they  have  set  their  feet  upon  the 
shimmering  pathway  to  a  new  world! 

Note.  This  hymn  was  written  while  the  Thaddeus  was  on  its  way  to 
the  Islands,  and  was  sung  at  the  embarkation  of  the  first  reinforcement 
to  the  mission  at  Boston  in  1822. 

ACT  II,  SCKNK  2.   The  main  cabin  on  board  the  brig  Thaddeus, 
March  27,  1820. 

Sisters  Thurston,  Bingham,  Whitney.  Chamberlain.  Ruggles. 
Holman  and  Loomis.  Five  Chamberlain  children:  Nancy,  not 
two  years  'old,  just  learning  to  walk;  Daniel,  about  five;  Mary, 
eight;  Nathan,  ten;  and  Dexter,  twelve  years  old.  Hopu  and 
Honolii,  two  of  the  Hawaiian  helpers.  Brothers  Thurston  and 
Bingham. 

(At  the  right  a  narrow  stairway  leading  to  the  deck  above.  At  the 
back  a  door  into  the  small  sleeping  cabin  of  Brother  and  Sister  Whit 
ney,  which,  like  the  main  cabin,  is  piled  almost  to  the  ceiling  with  desks, 
tables,  chairs  lashed  to  the  walls,  wash-stands,  trunks  and  bags,  boxes 
and  barrels  of  all  descriptions,  some  labeled  soap,  books,  sugar,  flour, 
beans,  pork,  ship's  biscuit,  pots,  kettles,  etc.  A  small  wooden  bench 
stands  near  the  gangway.  A  berth  can  be  seen  in  the  small  cabin  at 
the  back,  above  it  a  port-hole  in  the  ship's  side,  and  hanging  over  the 
berth  various  bundles  of  clothing.  In  the  foreground  of  the  main  cabin 
toward  the  left  is  a  long  narrow  table  surrounded  by  stools  or  chairs. 
Five  of  the  missionary  ladies,  all  except  Sisters  Whitney  and  Chamber 
lain,  are  busy  preparing  tea;  Hopu  and  Honolii  help  to  bring  on  the 
dishes,  set  the  chairs  and  then  retire.) 

116] 


Sister  Bingham:  Now  the  feast  is  spread.  Yet  I  fear  that  our 
little  celebration  may  appear  somewhat  light-minded  in  the  eyes  of  the 
brethren  who  apply  themselves  to  sternly  to  their  studies. 

Sister  Thurston:  But  surely,  Sister  Bingham,  a  short  social  hour 
may  be  permitted  to  their  female  companions.  In  fact,  I  think  after 
a  voyage  of  six  long  months,  we  well  deserve  a  period  of  slight  re 
laxation. 

Sister  Holman  (with  some  asperity) :  Indeed  yes,  with  all  the  trials 
to  which  we  have  been  subjected  in  this  rolling  prison,  it  will  be  a 
rare  treat  to  have  something  beside  eternal  roast  pork  and  moldy 
ship's  biscuit. 

Sister  Ruggles  (remonstrating  gently) :  But  it  is  the  good  provi 
dence  of  God  that  hath  brought  us  safely  so  near  the  end  of  our  long 
journey,  and  it  is  not  ours  to  repine,  but  rather  to  give  Him  unceasing 
thanks  for  the  bounteous  table  that  He  hath  not  failed  to  spread  be 
fore  us. 


Brother  and   Sister    Ruggles 


Sister  Thurston:  Shall  I  not  summon  Sister  Whitney?  Sister  Cham 
berlain  will  join  us  too,  I  am  confident. 

Sister  Loomis  (stepping  to  the  foot  of  the  gangway  and  calling) : 
Sister  Whitney  and  Sister  Chamberlain,  will  you  not  join  us  in  the 
cabin?  (The  two  sisters  descend,  little  Mary  and  Nancy  accompany 
ing  their  mother.) 

Sister  Thurston  (to  the  new-comers) :  We  are  gathered  for  a  social 
hour,  thinking  that  in  a  few  days'  time  we  shall  be  called  upon  to 
separate,  perhaps  forever,  because  Captain  Blanchard  has  said  that  we 
may  sight  the  peaks  of  Owhyhee  in  a  day  or  two,  possibly  even  on 
the  morrow. 

Sister  Chamberlain:  A  worthy  thought  indeed,  Sister  Thurston.  And, 
as  you  see,  I  have  bidden  my  two  daughters  make  themselves  of  the 

[17] 


company,  promising  the  three  boys  that  they  might  each  have  a  square 
of  the  cinnamon  bread  later. 

Sister  Whitney:  And  for  me  it  comes  at  a  most  opportune  moment, 
for  Mr.  Whitney  has  been  painting  the  side  of  the  brig  for  upwards  of 
an  hour  now,  and  my  poor  head  feels  quite  giddy  with  much  gazing 
down  upon  him. 

Sister  Bingham:  Then  let  us  gather  round  the  board  without  de 
lay,  dear  sisters.  (They  all  seat  themselves  at  the  table  and  begin  to 
take  tea.)  It  is  true  that  we  are  lacking  three  spoons  and  a  sufficient 
quantity  of  sugar,  but  none  will  repine  at  such  trifles. 

Sister  Chamberlain:  Nay  then,  let  me  supply  the  want,  Sister 
Bingham.  Mary,  my  child,  go  find  the  spoons  and  sweatmeats  which 
your  father  left  on  the  berth  in  packing  up  this  forenoon.  (Mary  goes 
out  and  returns  with  the  desired  articles  which  she  places  on  the 
table.) 

Sister  Holman:  Such  a  task  as  this  repacking  is,  with  a  six  months' 
wash  to  be  got  in  no  one  knows  where — a  truly  animating  prospect! 

Sister  Whitney:  But  only  think,  Sister  Holman,  of  the  quantity  that 
poor  Sister  Chamberlain  must  have  with  her  numerous  family,  so 
much  more  to  pack  up  than  any  of  the  rest  of  us! 

Sister  Chamberlain:  Truly,  if  it  were  not  for  my  good  and  de 
voted  husband,  I  should  scarce  know  where  to  begin! 

Sister  Ruggles:  And  consider,  dear  Sister  Holman,  how  uniformly 
kind  the  various  brethren  have  been,  not  only  to  their  wives,  but  also 
to  the  other  sisters,  as  indeed  they  were  enjoined  by  that  dear  father 
of  the  church.  Doctor  Worcester,  in  his  parting  address  in  Boston.  Do 
you  not  recall  how  he  bade  the  brethren  bear  in  mind  that  they  were 
themselves  but  frail  earthen  vessels,  and  that  the  beloved  female  mem 
bers  of  the  Mission  were  in  no  wise  to  be  forgotten? 

Sister  Thurston:  How  strange  a  fate  has  brought  us  together!  Nay, 
I  should  rather  say  that  the  hand  of  God  has  united  as  partners  for 
life  those  who  without  His  special  providence  might  never  have  known 
the  great  happiness  that  is  now  our  blessed  portion. 

Sister  Whitney:  And  how  strange  we  appeared  to  each  other  that 
memorable  day,  the  23rd  of  October,  when  we  all  assembled  for  the 
first  time  on  the  deck  of  the  Thaddeus  as  she  lay  at  anchor  in  Boston 
harbor! 

Sister  Bingham:  And  yet  I  feel  sure  that  not  even  then,  with  our 
homes  and  loved  ones  within  easy  reach,  did  any  one  of  us  repent 
the  step  she  had  taken. 

Sister  Chamberlain:  Rather  did  it  seem  to  us  all  a  very  crown  of 
glory!  (Here  the  three  boys,  Dexter,  Nathan  and  Daniel,  come 
tumbling  down  the  gangway,  calling,) 

Dexter,  Nathan  and  Daniel:    Mother,  mother! 

Sister  Chamberlain  (severely) :  Approach  in  a  more  seemly  man 
ner,  my  sons,  when  you  join  a  gathering  of  ladies.  (All  three,  though 
evidently  excited,  instantly  restrain  themselves.) 

Dexter:  But,  mother,  father  bade  us  carry  up  the  little  bench  at 
once  without  asking  why! 

Sister  Chamberlain:  Then  obey  without  delay.  (The  two  older  boys 
tug  the  little  bench  up  the  gangway;  little  Daniel  lingers  behind  and 
begs  a  slice  of  the  cinnamon  bread  from  his  mother.) 

[18] 


Daniel:  May  I  have  my  slice  of  cinnamon  bread  now,  mother? 
Sister  Chamberlain  (handing  him  a  slice) :    Yes,  my  son. 
Daniel:   Thank  you,  mother. 

Sister  Ruggles:  I  wonder  what  may  be  the  meaning  of  such  a 
strange  commission  to  the  boys  from  Brother  Chamberlain?  (The 
figure  of  Brother  Thurston  is  seen  descending  the  gangway;  he  ap 
proaches  Sister  Whitney's  chair.) 

Brother  Thurston:  Be  not  alarmed,  sisters.  Sister  Whitney  we 
would  particularly  enjoin  not  to  give  rein  to  any  undue  excitation  of 
feeling. 

Sister  Thurston:  But,  Mr.  Thurston,  tell  us,  tell  us!  Is  our  Brother 
Whitney  in  peril? 

Brother  Thurston:  With  remarkable  intuition,  Mrs.  Thurston,  you 
have  divined  the  purport  of  my  message.  (All  tremble  and  exclaim; 
Sister  Thurston  goes  to  Sister  Whitney's  aid.) 

Sister  Whitney:  Oh,  support  me, — but  no,  I  will  summon  all  my 
forces — hitherto  hath  the  Lord  helped  us,  He  will  never  forsake  us. 

Brother  Thurston:  Our  dear  Brother  Whitney,  as  you  are  all  aware, 
was  occupied  in  painting  the  side  of  the  brig.  Suddenly,  the  rope 
which  suspended  him  gave  way,  although  it  had  been  securely  fastened. 
We  all  heard  his  shout  as  he  fell,  but  our  good  Captain  Blanchard 
could  not  at  once  be  found.  While  the  brig  was  being  hove  to,  Brother 
Chamberlain  had  the  admirable  presence  of  mind  to  throw  overboard 
the  small  wooden  bench.  To  this  our  dear  brother  is  now  clinging,  and 
although  evidently  exhausted- with  swimming,  he  has  just  waved  his 
hat  to  us  from  afar.  A  boat  was  being  lowered  as  I  prepared  to  descend 
and  interrupt  your  festive  gathering. 

Sister  Bingham:  Oh  call  it  not  so,  Brother  Thurston,  let  us  think 
of  nothing  but  the  peril  of  our  dear  Brother  Whitney,  let  us  pray  for 
his  welfare,  one  and  all,  silently,  fervently.  ' 


Brother  Chamberlain 
[19] 


Sister  Whitney:  Oh,  let  me  go  to  him!  No,  (reverently)  not  my 
will,  but  Thine  be  done! 

Brother  Bingham  (descending  rapidly  and  calling  out) :  The  Lord 
hath  heard  our  common  supplication!  Our  brother  is  saved!  Although 
he  had  drifted  well-nigh  out  of  sight  on  his  improvised  life-boat,  stout 
hands  have  reached  him  at  last  and  are  even  now  rowing  him  nearer  to 
the  brig. 

All:  The  Lord's  name  be  praised!  (Sister  Whitney  falls  forward 
on  to  the  table;  Sister  Thurston  supports  her  tenderly.) 

Sister  Thurston:   Fail  us  not  now,  dear  sister. 

Sister  Whitney  (rising  with  great  difficulty,  one  hand  in  that  of 
Sister  Thurston,  the  other  leaning  heavily  on  the  table,  her  face  alight 
with  great  joy;  she  speaks  with  subdued  excitement,  gazing  the  while 
intently  at  the  little  gangway.)  You  are  right,  dear  Sister  Thurston. 
In  the  greater  strength  of  our  dear  Heavenly  Father,  who  made  us 
man  and  wife  and  who  hath  not  willed  that  he  should  be  torn  from 
me,  I  will  be  strong  to  meet  my  beloved  husband! 

OUBTAIN 

ACT  II,  SCENE  3.    The  same.   A  fortnight  later.   The  brig  having 
anchored  in  Kailua  Bay,  Hawaii. 

Sisters  Chamberlain.  Thurston.  Bingham.  and  Whitney,  or  all 

the  sisters,  if  space  allow. 
The  five,  Chamberlain  children. 
Hopu  and  Honolii. 

The  Queens  Kaahumanu  and  Kalakua. 
Two  kahili-bearers. 

Another  attendant  for  Queen  Kalakua. 
Brother  Bingham. 
Brother  Thurston  (calls  down  from  the  deck). 

(Sisters  Chamberlain,  Thurston  and  Bingham  are  employed  in  cut 
ting  out  and  stitching  a  quantity  of  white  muslin  on  the  dining  table. 
Sister  Whitney  is  seen  through  the  door  of  the  small  cabin  at  the  back; 
she  is  reclining  on  the  berth.  Little  Mary  is  sewing  a  long  seam  with 
the  help  of  a  seamstress'  dove  attached  to  the  table;  Daniel  and  Nancy 
are  playing  quietly;  Dexter  and  Nathan  sit  quietly  on  the  little  bench 
which  has  been  restored  to  its  place.) 

Sister  Chamberlain:  It  seems  incredible  that  we  can  see  snow 
capped  peaks  and  verdant  shores,  that  our  long  journey  is  at  an  end! 

Sister  Bingham ;  Almost  at  an  end,  dear  sister,  for  we  have  not 
yet  heard  the  decision  of  the  chiefs  with  regard  to  our  landing. 

Mary:    But  we  shall  hear  tonight,  shall  we  not,  mother? 

Sister  Chamberlain:  Tonight  or  on  the  morrow,  my  child,  these 
heathen  are  not  hasty  in  anything  they  do.  (Mr.  Thurston  calls  down 
the  gangway  from  the  deck,) 

[20] 


Brother  Thurston:  Sister  Chamberlain,  will  you  not  permit  Dexter 
and  Nathan  to  come  on  deck  for  a  few  moments  under  my  guidance? 

Sister  Chamberlain:  For  a  few  moments  only,  Mr.  Thurston.  (She 
nods  to  the  two  boys  who  bound  up  and  out  in  eager  delight.)  The 
natives  are  so  eager  to  fondle  the  children  that  I  cannot  leave  them 
for  a  moment  without  supervision.  Mary,  fetch  a  dish  of  broth  for  Mrs. 
Whitney.  (Mary  goes  to  a  door  at  the  left  and  returns  with  the  broth.) 

Sister  Bingham:  Dear  Sister  Whitney  seems  stronger  today,  but  the 
shock  of  Brother  Whitney's  accident  has  sapped  her  frail  strength  be 
yond  belief. 

Sister  Thurston:  Shall  I  not  take  the  broth  to  her?  (She  takes 
the  bowl  from  Mary  and  proceeds  to  Mrs.  Whitney's  cabin  where  she 
seats  herself  on  a  trunk  at  the  side  of  the  berth  and  converses  with 
the  invalid  in  low  tones.) 

Sister  Bingham  (taking  up  the  queen's  gown  and  holding  it  up 
against  her  own  to  measure  the  length) :  The  dress  which  our  heathen 
queen,  Kalakua,  commanded  us  to  make  is  well-nigh  completed,  is  it 
not,  Sister  Chamberlain? 

Sister  Chamberlain:  That  it  is.  And  now  our  great  concern,  dear 
sisters,  will  be  to  know  whether  the  gown  can  be  adjusted  to  suit  the 
somewhat  too  robust  frame  of  our  stalwart  queen.  We  may  even  be 
obliged  to  confine  her  none  too  delicate  waist  (this  last  in  a  guarded 
whisper)  with  a  pair  of  very  stout  stays!  (Sister  Thurston  has  helped 
the  invalid  out  of  her  berth  and  is  leading  her  tenderly  to  join  the 
sewing  circle.  Sister  Bingham  rises  to  meet  them.) 


Brother  and  Sister  Whitney 

Sister  Bingham:  Welcome  indeed,  dear  Sister  Whitney,  is  your  re 
turn  to  our  midst.  (As  they  all  help  her  to  get  comfortably  seated, 
Mary  twitches  her  mother's  gown.) 

Sister  Chamberlain:   Why  have  you  left  your  sewing,  my  daughter? 

Mary:  It  is  quite  finished,  mother,  and  please  may  I  not  go  and 
look  out  of  the  porthole  over  Mrs.  Whitney's  berth? 

Sister  Whitney:  Yes,  Sister  Chamberlain,  do  permit  the  dear  child 
to  go,  she  has  plied  her  needle  so  diligently  this  hour  and  more. 


Sister  Chamberlain:  Then  go,  my  child,  but  not  for  long.  (Mary 
runs  eagerly  to  the  open  porthole  and  thrusts  her  head  out.  Shouts 
of  natives  outside  can  be  heard  to  greet  her  appearance,) 

Natives:    Kaikamahine  keokeo!     (Little  white  girl!) 

Mary   (repeating):    Mahine  keokeo? 

Natives   (answering):     Maikai! 

Mary:   Mahine  maikai? 

Natives:  Ae,  maikai  loa!  (Mary  thrusts  out  her  hand  and  draws 
in  a  banana  which  she  proudly  presents  to  her  mother.) 

Nancy  (pointing  to  the  port-hole):    Nancy  go  too,  Mudder? 

Sister  Chamberlain:  No,  Nancy  stays  with  mother.  Mary,  take 
these  ship's  biscuit  from  the  table  and  give  them  to  the  natives  who 
have  welcomed  you  so  kindly.  (Mary  joyfully  runs  back  to  the  port 
hole  and  throws  out  the  biscuit,  eliciting  renewed  shouts.) 

Natives:  Maikai,  maikai  loa!  (Mary  answers  by  waving  her  hand, 
then  drawing  her  head  in  for  a  moment,  she  calls  excitedly,) 

Mary:  They  are  all  so  brown,  mother,  and  they  are  all  swimming 
around  without  any  bathing  garments  on,  mother! 

Sister  Chamberlain:  Yes,  my  child,  we  must  now  accustom  our 
eyes  to  the  aspect  of  ignorant  heathen  who  have  been  brought  up  en 
tirely  in  a  state  of  nature. 

Sister  Thurston:  What  a  privilege  is  ours  to  bring  light  to  them 
that  sit  in  darkness!  And  how  marvelous  that  in  God's  good  provi 
dence  their  worship  of  idols  has  been  abandoned  ere  we  arrive!  The 
field  is  surely  whitening  for  the  harvest. 

Sister  Whitney:  Do  you  not  recall,  sisters,  that  the  brethren  have 
almost  foreseen  this  great  event?  Once  in  the  Atlantic  Ocean  while 
our  sails  flapped  idly  without  wind,  and  later,  when,  after  passing  the 
Cape,  we  dallied  again  upon  a  painted  ocean? 

Sister  Bingham:  Aye,  well  do  I  remember,  Sister  Whitney,  and 
'twas  not  the  brethren  only,  for  the  words  penned  in  my  own  journal 
are  indelibly  imprinted  upon  my  mind:  "Nov.  17th,  still  watching  for 
favorable  winds;  have  been  in  latitude  37  to  38  degrees  for  more  than 
10  days;  but  even  the  winds  and  the  sea  obey  Him;  and  of  this  we 
may  rest  assured,  that  if  our  Heavenly  Father,  according  to  His  eternal 
purposes,  land  us  at  length  on  the  shores  of  Owhyhee,  it  will  be  at  the 
very  moment  his  sovereign  pleasure  deems  it  best." 

Sister  Thurston:  Strange  indeed,  and  past  finding  out  are  the  ways 
of  God  to  man.  (Here  Thomas  Hopu  and  John  Honolii  descend  the 
gangway.  Mary  runs  to  her  mother.) 

Hopu:  Mr.  Bingham  bids  Hopu  say  that  two  Sandwich  Island 
queens,  Kaahumanu  and  Kalakua,  wives  of  the  late  King  Kamehameha, 
are  pleased  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  sick  white  lady.  (The  two  queens 
are  seen  majestically  descending  the  stairway,  each  attended  by  a 
young  kahili-bearer.  Both  queens  are  attired  in  beautiful  kiheis  over 
the  shoulder  and  tapas  wound  so  thick  about  the  body  as  to  hold  the 
arms  out  at  a  stiff  angle.  They  remain  at  the  foot  of  the  gangway, 
allowing  the  missionary  ladies  to  come  to  them.  Kalakua  shakes  hands 
and  rubs  noses;  Kaahumanu,  more  formal  and  distant,  permits  them 
to  shake  only  two  fingers  of  her  hand.  The  white  ladies  then  bring 
chairs  for  their  guests  who  seat  themselves,  but  appear  somewhat  un 
comfortable;  both  rise  and  with  a  word  in  Hawaiian  to  Hopu,  take 

[22] 


seats  more  naturally  on  the  floor  near  the  foot  of  the  gangway  toward 
the  front  of  the  stage,  their  kahili-bearers  behind  them.) 

Hopu:  Their  majesties  thank  the  white  ladies  for  the  high  seats, 
but  prefer  the  ground  to  which  they  are  accustomed. 

Sister  Thurston  (bowing  and  smiling) :  We  trust  that  their  majes 
ties  are  comfortable.  But,  Honolii,  can  you  tell  us  whether  their 
majesties  are  always  so  scantily  clad? 

Honolii:  Oh  no,  madame,  their  majesties  have  put  on  full  dress  for 
a  great  occasion.  (Kalakua  speaks  in  Hawaiian  to  Hopu.) 

Hopu:  Her  Majesty  Kalakua  wishes  to  know  whether  her  white 
gown  is  yet  finished? 

Sister  Bingham  (approaching  with  the  gown  in  her  hand,  and 
speaking  directly  to  the  queen  with  many  gestures) :  Yes,  your 

majesty, pau   (Kalakua  nods  understandingly) — and  would  you  not 

like  to  try  to  put  it  on? 

Kalakua:  Ae,  ae!  (then  calling  up  the  gangway  to  another  atten 
dant) — He,  mai,  mai!  (The  attendant  descends.  The  queen  lies  down 
and  unrolls  out  of  her  state  clothes  which  the  kahu,  or  attendant, 
proceeds  to  roll  up  and  carry  for  her.  Arrayed  in  a  thin  white  tapa 
about  the  body,  the  queen  rises  with  undiminished  majesty  of  deport 
ment  and  allows  the  white  ladies  to  clothe  her  in  civilized  splendor. 
The  gown  proves  to  be  much  too  small  for  the  stalwart  figure  of  the 
heathen  queen,  but  the  deficiency  is  speedily  remedied  by  a  broad 
sash  with  voluminous  bow  and  ends.  At  a  whispered  word  from  her 
mother,  Mary  runs  to  Mrs.  Whitney's  room  and  brings  to  Kalakua  a 
small  hand  mirror  which  she  presents  with  a  deep  curtsy;  the  queen 
is  delighted.  Sister  Thurston  brings  out  a  small  box  from  which  all 
the  ladies  present  to  each  queen  a  lace  bonnet  and  fichu.  Kalakua  is 
charmed  with  hers  and  tries  them  on;  Kaahumanu  glances  at  them, 
nods  her  thanks,  and  allows  Queen  Kalakua's  kahu  to  take  them  for 
her.)  , 

Sister  Bingham:  These  are  gifts  from  all  the  ladies  of  the  Mission. 
(Brother  Bingham  descends  the  gangway  hastily,  hat  in  hand.  He 
bows  to  both  groups,  and  says  reverently:) 

Brother  Bingham:  The  spirit  of  the  Lord  hath  moved  upon  the 
waters!  After  twelve  days'  parley,  the  king  has  graciously  given  per 
mission  to  our  little  band  to  reside  in  these  islands  for  the  space  of 
one  year.  The  Lord  hath  prepared  the  way.  It  now  rests  with  us  to 
prove  that  we  have  come  to  aid  and  instruct  this  benighted  people. 
(Great  joy  is  evident  among  the  ladies.) 

Sister  Bingham:  Open  Thou  our  lips  and  our  mouth  shall  show 
forth  Thy  praise! 

Brother  Bingham:  Such  a  song  is,  in  fact,  about  to  be,  raised,  dear 
sisters.  When  I  descended  here  with  the  momentous  news,  Brother 
Thurston  was  already  half-way  up  the  mast  where  I  must  speedily 
join  him.  That  blessed  hymn,  the  Head  of  the  Church  Triumphant,  our 
beloved  Melton  Mowbray,  sung  eight  months  since  at  our  ordination, 
we  shall  now  repeat — the  first  Christian  hymn  ever  heard  by  the  Sand 
wich  Island  king  and  his  waiting  people.  (He  mounts  the  stairs  rap 
idly.  All  stand  listening  intently,  the  ladies  with  hands  clasped  before 
them,  and  all  gazing  up  through  the  aperture  to  the  deck;  even  Sister 
Whitney  rises,  supporting  herself  against  the  table,  her  face  shining 

[23] 


with  joy.  Kaahumanu  sits  as  before;  Kalakua  is  still  standing,  gazing 
at  her  finery  and  at  herself  in  the  little  mirror.  The  strains  of  the 
hymn  are  now  distinctly  heard;  as  they  proceed,  Kalakua,  ceasing  to 
attend  to  her  dress,  begins  to  listen.  Kaahumanu,  nodding  her  head 
to  the  rhythm,  exclaims,  once  or  twice  before  the  hymn  comes  to  a 
close,) 

Kaahumanu:  Maikai,  maikai! 

J.     Head  of  the  Church  triumphant, 
We  joyfully  adore  Thee: 

Till   Thou   appear, 

Thy  members  here. 
Shall  sing  like  those  in  glory: 
We  lift  our  hearts  and  voices, 
In  blest  anticipation, 

And  cry  aloud, 

And  give  to  God 
The  praise  of  our  salvation. 

2.  "While  in  affliction's  furnace, 
And  passing  through  the  fire, 

Thy  love  we  praise, 

That  knows  our  days. 
And  ever  brings  us  nigher: 
We  clasp  our  hands,  exulting 
In  Thine  almighty  favor; 

The  love  divine. 

That  made  us  thine 
Shall  keep  us  Thine  forever. 

3.  Thou  dost  conduct  Thy  people, 
Through  torrents  of  temptation; 

Nor  will  we  fear, 

While  Thou  art  near, 
The  fire  of  tribulation: 
The  world  with  sin  and  Satan, 
In  vain  our  march  opposes; 

By  Thee  we  shall 

Break  through  them  all, 
And  sing  "the  song  of  Moses." 

4.  By  faith  we  see  the  glory 

To  which  Thou  shalt  restore  us; 

The  cross  despise. 

For  that  high  prize. 
Which  Thou  hast  set  before  us: 
And  if  Thou  count  us  worthy 
We  each,  as  dying  Stephen, 

Shall  see  Thee  stand 

At  God's  right  hand. 
To  take  us  up  to  Heaven. 

CURTAIN 


[24] 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


47584 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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